


Dinners and Diatribes

by rebornlover



Category: Dimension 20 (Web Series), The Unsleeping City
Genre: Brown family feelings, F/M, Ficlet, Pre-Canon, The entire Brown family are masters of speak softly and carry a big stick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-12 07:02:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28506396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rebornlover/pseuds/rebornlover
Summary: Kingston Brown was an unusually sweet child, selfless to the point of excess and so he had rarely been punished, but even so he couldn't claim a spotless record. However, if there was one thing he could say with absolute certainty, it was that in all walks of life, his father Winston Brown was a man who rarely got angry or worked up.In fact in all of his life, Kingston had only one clear example to draw upon. To the surprise of no one, it had involved his mother.
Relationships: Kingston and his loving parents, Victoria Brown/Winston Brown
Comments: 3
Kudos: 27





	Dinners and Diatribes

**Author's Note:**

> This is mostly just a love letter to the Brown family after the last two episodes. I think one of the reasons that Kingston is such a great person is that he had community to model for him how to be a good person and I know his parents play such a huge part in that. Community is just such an intrinsic part of the character Lou created. 
> 
> Anyway as my beta saintdeanthomas is prone to saying Kingston is a master of Speak Softly and Carry a Big Stick and I think his parents would be too

Kingston Brown was an unusually sweet child, selfless to the point of excess and so he had rarely been punished, but even so he couldn't claim a spotless record. However, if there was one thing he could say with absolute certainty, it was that in all walks of life, his father Winston Brown was a man who rarely got angry or worked up.

There were only two occasions that provided exceptions: Dominoes and Unfairness. And his dad was so good at the former by the time Kingston was a teenager that even that rarely came into play.

In fact in all of his life, Kingston had only one clear example to draw upon. To the surprise of no one, it had involved his mother.

Victoria Brown was (according to her loving son, husband and most of the neighborhood) the best cook in New York City, if not the entire state. She cooked like it was her life mission, what she had been put on earth to do. And she did it in the service of her community, her family and her city. 

Victoria had come up cooking in her grandma’s and mama’s kitchens. Quick on her feet and learning recipes in measurements of dashes and smidges before cups and spoons. This had served her well enough to be admitted into a local cooking school and then as the cook of several restaurants. 

Despite her love of cooking this meant that Winston handled most of the cooking when Kingston was a child. Victoria had tried to argue her way into the kitchen on several occasions but Winston who had the more convenient work schedule had simply kissed her on her forehead and urged her to sit down with a cup of tea. 

‘Besides, you do all this cooking everyday of the week and then go all out on Sunday. If you won’t take the Seventh Day to rest, you’ll dang well take the evenings.’

Victoria had hemmed and hawed her disagreement even as she patted Kingston’s hair, hovering over him as she helped with his homework. 

When Kingston was just starting as a freshman in highschool, he and his mother had already been volunteering at the local soup kitchen for three years.

‘As your Daddy is always reminding me, I tend to go a bit overboard on Sundays, and what does the lord teach us if not to share our excesses with our neighbors?’

His father had tried to dissuade her but was convinced on the condition that Victoria made the cooking for the kitchen her only work for the weekend. Many a Sunday dinner were leftovers of food that Kingston had served earlier that day to the old men who played chess in the park and the women who watched him for his mama whenever he had to run down the street for something. 

The inciting incident for Winston had started with the appointment of a new volunteer director to the soup kitchen. 

He was a young white guy, a recent graduate, hired to manage the volunteers of the expanding project. He was ‘nice enough’, Victoria said when she mentioned it at dinner that night. ‘Excited and passionate, only...’

She had trailed off slightly, her lips slowly coming together.

‘Only?’ Winston prompted, ever attentive. He had now stopped eating entirely and leaned towards her.

She shook her head slightly

‘I’m sure, it’s nothing.’ she said. She smiled at them beatifically and urged them both to finish their food.

It was not nothing.

Kingston, dealing with his first year of high school and busy with football, had only really been able to piece together most of the story after the fact. The new volunteer coordinator had been very pushy. Leaning on the older volunteers while he tried to find his pace, he had picked out Victoria to help him. And that had been fine, at first. Just a little more work for her but she was one of the longest running volunteers and this was something that would benefit the kitchen and the community.

Except that even after that first couple of months she was still doing some of his duties; arranging schedules and sometimes working on the food supplies. Little things for sure, but they ate into her time nonetheless and she became tired and rushed in a way that she wasn’t used to being. 

So, she had taken a look at her burdens and decided to put some down. Not even stop volunteering at the kitchen, just go back to what she had been doing before. 

The volunteer coordinator had reassured her that he understood and that he would slowly start phasing back her duties. And that should have been the end of it, no fuss no muss. 

That was not the end of it.

A month after that conversation, she had gone back to talk to the coordinator again. There had been no changes in the amount of work she was doing. Victoria Brown was long on patience but short on bullshit and she held others to the same standard she held herself. If something was promised to get done, it was going to get done. 

The new volunteer coordinator had not liked being pushed. Never mind that Victoria was doing some of his work for him on top of the volunteer work she usually did. Never mind that she wasn’t being paid for any of it. He had blown up like a big old wind bag and talked down to her about the importance of community work and that if she didn’t understand that some sacrifices had to be made, she was free to leave and volunteer somewhere else.

Victoria Brown had stood in silence through all of this, thought very hard about the consequences of murdering this man with her kitchen knives, and decided that it wasn’t worth the damage to her favorite set. Then she went home. 

Winston had taken one look at his wife’s face that evening and sent Kingston out to visit his Uncle for dinner. The next Sunday he drove Kingston to the soup kitchen. 

Kingston had been tasked with gathering his mother’s things from the volunteer room while his father had walked into the man’s office and closed the door gently behind him (Winston was a man who looked down upon people who slammed doors). 

There hadn’t been any shouting. Kingston had snatched all his mother’s things as quickly as possible and ran back to sneak a glance through the glass pane of the door and it looked for all the world like the man and his father were simply talking about the weather. His father was relaxed, his fists loose, his back straight in a way that came from confidence rather than menace. His face from what Kingston could see was serene. 

Winston opened up the door to leave while he was still talking and so Kingston did manage to catch the last few words.

‘Thank you kindly for your time today. I’m glad we could handle this. I’ll let Victoria know you received her message.’ Winston’s voice was the calm of the sea before a storm

‘R-Right.’ the young man gulped. ‘Please send her my apologies again for the misunderstanding.’

‘She’ll be happy to receive them herself.’ Winston replied smoothly, no room for argument in his tone. ‘After all, my wife has volunteered here for 4 years, it’s the least you can do...surely.’

The man had merely nodded in response. Victoria had indeed been glad to receive his hand delivered apology basket the next weekend. A couple of weeks later she had been similarly pleased to receive an invitation to return from the new volunteer director, one of her fellow volunteers, along with the news that some community upset had precipitated the young man leaving the position vacant. 

Victoria had smiled widely and invited her friend in for tea. The two women were drinking cups of tea while they gossiped lowly in the afternoon sunlight and Kingston helped his father in the kitchen.


End file.
